


The Earth Waits With Baited Breath

by Officer_Jennie



Series: BadThingsHappenBingo [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 12:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Officer_Jennie/pseuds/Officer_Jennie
Summary: Prompt: Handcuffed/Manacled





	The Earth Waits With Baited Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Handcuffed/Manacled

Metal had never been his element.

Hashirama sat on the floor, painfully aware of how cold and wet it was. It was uncomfortable in a way he didn’t how to deal with. The hard rock flooring left his entire body sore, and the metal on his wrists and ankles chafed and left his skin raw and pink, almost the color of poor Tobi’s whenever he spent just a bit too long in the sun without his lotion.

Except Hashirama couldn’t _heal_ this like he could his brother’s pain. He scratched at the irritated skin, wincing but unable to help himself, needing some sort of stimulation just to keep him from being driven crazy from not being able to _do_ anything.

Maybe that wasn’t the most pressing issue - his boredom, his inability to entertain himself, how still he was forced to be - but that’s all Hashirama could bring himself to worry about at that moment. The little inconveniences instead of the overwhelming pressure that left his breaths far too quick to control, made his body shake in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

He couldn’t do anything about the _big issue_, so he thought of the small things. Like how maybe if he folded his legs a bit closer to himself the chains might not make that awful raking noise against the stone floor every time he moved, or how maybe if he tied his hair up in a knot it might not catch on the links as much.

The awful stomachache couldn’t be dealt with either. He leaned against the gods awful wall at his back, pouting a bit at how the rocks jutted out unevenly and dug into him so uncomfortably. Being active in the field for so long meant he _had_ gone a while without food before but it didn’t make it any less enjoyable whenever he was forced to starve. At least it had only been a week or so by now.

Or so he thought. Shifting about meant listening to the scraping sounds of metal some more but he did it anyway, trying his best to keep his feet from falling asleep. There wasn’t any natural light shining down the hall from what he’d seen so far, and the dull artificial light that barely made it into his cell hadn’t been turned off even once. He really had no idea how long he’d been there, just that even the first hour had been _too long_.

It was suffocating. Being inside. Trapped behind metal bars, more metal clasped around him and _keeping_ him. Not feeling the warmth of the world or the soft earth or even hearing the smallest of whispers from the ever-breathing trees that had kept him company for so long-

He couldn’t think. Not on that, not on any of it. He dug a fingernail into the irritated skin at his wrist, forcing himself to focus on that beyond anything else, on the warm trickle that spilled out from the small wound he opened there.

This wouldn’t last. He wouldn’t be here forever. And in the meantime, he simply wouldn’t think about it.

Someone was talking down the hall. It wasn’t anything new; there were dozens upon dozens of different guards that passed him throughout the days and nights, many of which patrolled in pairs. They would snicker and talked in their gruff accents that he barely understood and not spare him so much as a single glance - good news, really. The best sort of news about his entire situation, because that meant _they didn__’t know him_.

He somehow doubted he’d still be alive if they knew him. But that was just yet another thing he couldn’t allow himself to think about.

The voices down the hall were getting a bit louder. It didn’t sound like they were coming near him at least. Hashirama might be a social person by nature but he didn’t care much for seeing the people who kept him here; he rather hoped to be seeing some other faces soon, maybe some of the people waiting for him back home.

_Home_. Hashirama sunk into himself, biting the awfully chapped skin of his lower lip to keep the tears at bay. It had felt like years though he knew it couldn’t have been nearly that long. Mito, Tobirama, Madara - he missed them more than his words could ever truly express but his heart tried to reach for them, swelling in his breast and ready to burst at the thought that this might be it, that memories might be all that he’ll ever have of them until even those couldn’t keep him company any longer.

Distraction. He needed a distraction. The voices sounded almost angry when they carried down to him now, raised and red around the edges. He focused on that instead of the screaming of his own soul, the outside stimuli proving decent enough to keep him from hyperventilating as he had so many times before.

Why did they sound angry though? He strained his ears in curiosity, hoping to catch some word or phrase he could recognize, scrunching up his nose whenever he couldn’t understand even a lick of what it was they might be saying-

The sound of choked pain was one he knew. Metal and shouting, the anger of battle, clanging weapons - Hashirama pressed himself back against the wall by instinct, alert, watching for any movement that might come into eyesight.

Someone was attacking. Friend or foe of his, he did not know, but it meant he had to be cautious, and considering he had no way to _be_ cautious - no weapons, nowhere to hide, no way to attempt to escape - it meant all he could do was wait and hope they weren’t worse than those who already held him.

The noise died down after a time, until nothing but his own breaths and heartbeat broke the silence. He tried to calm both of them, watching and waiting, knowing without seeing the aftermath that the attackers had won.

For all he knew, his good luck had ended.

There was someone in the hall. He strained his eyes to catch better sight of them, noticing a form slinking along the far wall. A shinobi, a skilled one, silent with smooth movements, like a dancer in the shadows. They stalled near his cell, hesitating - and then Hashirama was crying out because he had been _wrong_ in the best of ways.

“Hush, husband.” That beautiful voice tried to quiet him but the relief he heard there only made him squirm even more. “I’ll be with you in a moment. Stay still.”

“Mito, your _hair_, it’s like the sun at dawn! Do you know how much it hurt not to see it every morning?”

“Dearest, I told you to hush.” His most beloved person in the whole world, his beautiful and stunning and overwhelmingly _amazing_ wife, pulled a pin from one of the buns her hair was in, setting to work unlocking the cell door between them. It was all he could do not to cry out again or sing her praise once more, but nothing in the world could stop his quiet sobbing as he beheld her face for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

When she knelt before him at last, her hand came up to cup his cheek, sharp eyes gentle as she took in his state. And what a state he must have been in - he knew he was filthy, his clothes rank and his body covered in grim, but she didn’t so much as wrinkle her small nose in disgust despite it all.

“My brightest star,” she whispered to him, her thumb wiping the tears away that he simply could not stop from falling. “Not a moment has gone by that I haven’t missed you with all that I am - and not a single soul responsible for us parting has been spared for our pain.”

It hurt more than he’d imagined it would when his wrists and ankles were finally freed, his chakra allowed to spread through his body and start healing it at last. He was almost ashamed to have to lean so heavily on his wife, dwarfing her in size and apologizing despite knowing full well she could support him with ease. Mito only shushed him more as she helped him limp out and away from the place he hoped to thoroughly and completely forget about by the morning.

He knew he could never forget. The scars would last even after his body healed them, but in his beloved’s arms he could pretend much more successfully than he ever could in a dark and cold prison beneath the earth he called his friend.

The trees rustled as he hobbled passed them, reaching out with the wind to greet him. He gave a tired smile as he reached out for them as well, still covered in filth, still tired and hungry and far too weak to go on on his own - but he knew he would never be alone, never truly. No matter how many cruel people might try to take him from his home and from his people - from his wife, his brother, his dearest friend, and the rest of his village - there would always be a way back to where he belonged.

And the trees and earth would always be waiting for him, to welcome him back home.


End file.
